Rating: PG-13

Summary: The guilt over his crimes pushes Harry to do the unthinkable.

Spoilers: It's best to have read all the HP books.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling, her publisher and her many, many well-paid lawyers. I am NOT making any money off this, nor am I trying to infringe on anyone's copyright. Believe that.

Author's Notes: Another installment in my Dark!Harry series - "Ruined In A Day", "Sea of Sin" and "Black Celebration". Edited to add: These stories were all written well before the release of Order of the Phoenix, thus the reason for any and all conflicts with canon beyond Goblet of Fire.

Questions, Comments, Suggestions: Send to donnacsoprano76 AT gmail DOT com. All flames are read, laughed at then deleted with extreme prejudice.

"All consequences are your own creation
And there's a price you must pay."

- The Fool, "The Bitter Suite", Xena: Warrior Princess

"Do you know, who's that guy?
Who's all alone?
Do you care enough to see?
He's in pain and misery?"

- "The Ballad", Millencolin

"Examination of Conscience"
By Net Girl

The dreams, more like nightmares, never left him. Every single night, the same scenes played out from beginning to end - his manipulative murder of Ginny Weasley, the sly slaying of the Dursleys by using his talents as a Parseltongue and, worst of all, his nearly killing of the two best friends he'd ever had. Until recently, not one bit of it would've troubled him. In fact, he'd reveled in not caring about what he'd done to others, esp. Ginny. But that wasn't the case any longer.

Harry Potter sat on the edge of his bed, dreading the start of the new day. Only a few more weeks left in the school year. Only a few more weeks would he have to deal with the whispers and stares from fellow Gryffindors and the other students. Even worse, he couldn't tolerate the distance between himself and Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. That hurt more than the constant guilt and grief over what he'd done in the last few months. Essentially, he was at square one. The same position he was in when an eleven year old trapped at the Dursley home.

He was completely alone.

Standing, he made his way over to the mirrored dresser. These days, he couldn't bear to look at his own reflection for more than a few seconds. His morning ritual was the same as it had been since Easter time. From the moment he woke, he switched himself over to autopilot. Without remembering how he managed to do it, he would put on his clothes, his robe and gather up the books he would need for the day's classes. If he felt so inclined, he would go to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Today would be one of the days he went. He'd skipped all meals yesterday and he needed to eat something to keep himself alive. Alive for what, he couldn't quite figure out. And why was he even alive? Why was he at Hogwarts? Dumbledore and McGonagall had a lengthy chat with him and cited reasons why they'd wanted him to stay at school. Harry had been certain he would be a guest of Azkaban prison.

Some days, he felt as though he already were. His previous experiences with the Dementors gave him an idea of what life was like there. Dementors sucked the happiness from a person, leaving only the pain and misery behind. Why not toss him into Azkaban and be done with it? At least there he wouldn't have to face Ron and Hermione and every other person he ever knew. He'd heard enough whispers to last him a lifetime. He couldn't get more isolated than he was now, even if he were in a cell. The only company he kept was his own hopelessness.

Once he'd dressed he headed to the Great Hall. As usual, he was the last to arrive. Also, as usual, his entrance caused a drop in conversation among the students. He heard his name murmured as he walked down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. Once he sank into a seat at the very end of his table, the conversations resumed at their normal levels.

He lifted his head and he noticed Dumbledore gazing upon him from his seat at the faculty table. He couldn't quite figure out the expression on the old man's face - was it disappointment or pity? Suspicion or contemplation? To Dumbledore's immediate left was McGonagall, who wore a similar expression on her face. Swallowing hard, Harry focused on the food before him. Picking up his goblet, he drained it quickly, wishing it were a death potion or a healthy serving of any Muggle alcoholic beverage.

"Can't believe he's still here," muttered Ron to Hermione as he glared at Harry on the opposite end of the table. He shook his head. "Every day I wake up and hope he'll have gone away."

Hermione looked from Ron to Harry. "I don't think he could leave if he wanted to," she quietly replied. She glanced up to Dumbledore who was engaged in a conversation with McGonagall. "There's a reason Dumbledore's kept him here, Ron."

Ron snorted. "I tell you where he should be," he growled as he pushed the rest of his food away. Upon Harry's entrance into the Hall, Ron had lost his appetite anyway. "Same place all of his sort go." He smirked. "But he's a special case, and he has the right people in his corner."

Hermione's shoulders slumped as she watched Harry pick at the food on his plate. No matter what she or Dumbledore said, Ron refused to believe that Harry had changed. She'd tried to tell Ron about what happened in the library after he'd been knocked unconscious but Ron wouldn't hear it. And when she managed to say that she'd witnessed Harry's change, Ron only laughed and replied, "He's certainly got you fooled, hasn't he, Hermione?"

As plausible as it was, since Harry had so gloriously fooled them all for months, Hermione didn't believe this was the case. She'd witnessed him morph from a murderous psychotic back into the Harry they'd known for nearly seven years. Still, she herself had trouble in forgiving Harry for what he'd done. Particularly for the things he'd perpetrated on Ron and her.

"He won't last long without them," Dumbledore commented to McGonagall. He looked from Harry to Ron and Hermione on the other end of the Gryffindor table.

The last few weeks were rough on everyone involved in the matter with Harry Potter. The rest of the school, they didn't know the full story behind what had happened. Theories, though, were abound. Everything from temporary insanity to another plot of Voldemort's made the rounds among the gossipers of Hogwarts. No one knew the truth - except the three Gryffindor students, Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore, McGonagall and Professor Snape. Dumbledore chose to inform Snape because of similarities in Snape's and Harry's situations. Who knew when such a connection could be useful for Harry's rehabilitation?

McGonagall solemnly nodded then looked to Dumbledore. "We can't force them to socialize with him again, can we, Albus? I understand how they must feel."

"As do I," Dumbledore agreed with a nod. "I was merely making a statement. Harry may have pulled back from his darker intentions but he can't be expected to survive without any support."

McGonagall looked upon Harry again, noting how it was a chore for him to even eat. He appeared oblivious to the chattering and bustle around him; it was as though he existed in a bubble, shutting out the rest of the world.

"What do you suggest we do?" she asked. "Have a chat with Granger and Weasley? Somehow, I don't feel it would be of any help."

Dumbledore shook his head. "We can do nothing, Minerva. Except wait. And hope."

"Kill anyone today, Potter?"

Harry froze when he heard Draco Malfoy's voice come from beside him. After a moment, he continued on, pretending that he'd heard nothing. This was Draco's daily ritual, just as Harry had his. Day in and day out, Malfoy bragged that he knew what had really happened with Harry. To anyone who would listen, Draco recounted tales of how Harry murdered countless innocents and attempted to kill his own friends. Of course, very few in the school actually believed Malfoy's stories. If it were actually true, why would Harry still be a student? Certainly, Dumbledore would've expelled him and handed him over to the Dementors ages ago. Right?

Draco folded his arms across his chest and looked down at the top of Harry's head. "What's the matter?" he asked, loud enough for anyone within earshot to hear him. He chuckled. "Friends still sore that you tried to off them?"

On the other end of the table, Dean Thomas grumbled, "Why doesn't he ever stay at his own bloody table?"

"Who?" asked Ron, looking to Dean. He followed Dean's pointing finger to find Malfoy, without Crabbe and Goyle for once, looming over Harry, who obviously tried to ignore him. His eyes narrowed briefly then he went back to discussing the upcoming Quidditch World Cup matches with Seamus Finnigan.

Hermione bit her lower lip. If it were any other school year, Ron would've been to Harry's defense quicker than a person could say, "Lumos". Now, all he did was glare at Draco and go on about his business as if Harry meant nothing. Her gaze shifted back to Harry, who was positively miserable as Malfoy kept running his mouth.

"Of course, I know your really vile secrets," Malfoy continued. He didn't care if Dumbledore and McGonagall were right behind him. This was the most fun he'd had in weeks. He squatted down so his chin was near level with the top of the table. "Maybe I should let the whole school in on a particular one? About a certain ginger-haired Gryffindor girl?"

Harry's hands balled into fists. From the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy smirking in that superior manner of his.

"Wouldn't a certain ex-best friend of yours find that one interesting?" Draco asked. Voice lowering to a conspiratorial hush, he went on. "I wonder ... what would Weasley do if he ever discovered the truth? Do you think he'd find it within his poor heart to forgive you?"

Hands nearly white from being clutched into fists, Harry wanted to punch Malfoy so hard that he'd never be able to stop his blonde head from spinning.

"Of all the things you've done, that was easily the worst." Draco's eyes glimmered with a perverse glee as he watched Harry quietly seethe. "Only you and I know what really happened in your room that night, don't we ... Harry?"

"Why don't you clear off, Malfoy?"

Draco and Harry both looked up to see Hermione, a stern look on her face, standing there. Immediately, Draco rose to his full height that put him nearly a foot over Hermione; however, she showed no fear of him.

"Well, this is a surprise," Draco said, his lips curling into a grin. "You're the last person I'd have expected to see sticking up for Potter." He folded his arms again, looking down on Hermione as he would a common house elf. "Of course, being a Mudblood you need as many pureblooded friends you can get, right? Even if one of them did almost kill you."

Hermione flinched, and she knew Malfoy saw it judging by the smirk he gave her. "I won't tell you again," she evenly said, ignoring his comments. Her hand brushed her open robe, giving Malfoy a glimpse of her wand. "Leave. Unless you would like to be turned into the beady-eyed little rat that you are?"

Malfoy's features hardened. He took a step back from her. "Potter wasn't being a sport, anyway," he casually told her then he snorted. Without another word, he turned on his heel and went back to the Slytherin table.

Hermione let out a breath and relaxed. She was relieved Draco hadn't called her on her threat. She didn't want to turn him into a rat - no matter how much he deserved it - in front of the entire faculty. Her reputation as a respectable, rule-abiding student WAS still important to her.

Harry, on the other hand, was grateful Hermione had showed up when she did. It wasn't so much that he cared if he punched Draco in full view of the teachers, it was because of Malfoy's taunting over Ginny Weasley. That was one secret he'd held back from Dumbledore and McGonagall and it was the one memory he could never escape. And he couldn't bear to think of what Ron would do if he found out the truth. The other boy hated him enough as it was.

"I don't think he'll be back for the rest of the day," Hermione said, breaking the uncomfortable silence between them. She sniffed. "If he does come back, I'd put a Mute spell on him." She shifted in place then cleared her throat. "If I were the sort to do things like that," she added.

"Thank you." It was the most sincere "thank you" he'd given in his entire life.

She tried to offer him a smile in return. Whenever she looked at Harry, she could only recall the night in the library. That feeling of powerlessness bothered her a great deal, more than she would ever admit to anyone.

"Wasn't a problem," she quickly murmured then headed back to her seat. When she sat down, she sighed heavily, a rush of emotions hitting her at once.

Ron stared at her as she gulped down her drink. "What was that about?" he asked as she placed her goblet on the table.

"Nothing," she whispered. She glanced at Ron and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "Honestly, it wasn't anything. I'd rather have my breakfast without Draco Malfoy looming about the table."

Ron eyed her, almost suspiciously. "What'd he say to you?" He nodded in Harry's direction.

"He merely said 'thank you'." She paused then looked at him. "I'm telling you, that's it." She saw that twinge of anger in Ron's eyes. He, too, wouldn't soon forget that incident between her and Harry in the library. In fact, he was ready to confront Harry about it before -

"We'd better go," Ron said. He glanced down at Harry once more then gathered up his books as well as Hermione's. "Don't want to be late for Transfiguration, right?" Frankly, he wanted to get out of the Hall. Such close quarters with Harry made him uneasy and he preferred to stay as far away as he could.

"Right," she softly agreed. She wanted to help Ron realize that Harry had changed but it was painfully obvious today wouldn't be the day that happened.

As she and Ron left the Hall with a crowd of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, Hermione gasped as someone seized her by the arm of her robe, bringing her to a halt. When she turned, she was startled to discover that Harry was the one who'd stopped her.

"Harry -"

"Could I talk to you later?" he asked, avoiding her eyes as he spoke. He let go of her robe when he realized he still gripped it. "Please?" he added for good measure.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond then shut it. She wasn't sure what to say. She saw Ron nearby, books in his arms, watching Harry with a suspicious glare. More than Ron's concern, she had her own. The idea of meeting with Harry wasn't one she was exactly wild about.

"I - I don't know -"

"You can meet me in the common room or the courtyard," he quickly said before Hermione could turn him down. The look on her face when he'd asked her to meet with him - it hurt to see her react that way. She was afraid of him. He didn't blame her. "Lots of people will be around, Hermione. You won't be alone."

"Look, Harry, I have so much to do this afternoon -" She wanted an excuse, any excuse, so she wouldn't have to deal with him. Today wasn't the day she would forgive him, either. The day would come, she was sure, but it wasn't anytime soon.

"Please," he cut in. He met her gaze, with desperation in his eyes as he spoke. "Please, Hermione. I need to talk to you about something. You're the only one I can think of to ask."

Before she knew what she was doing, she nodded. "Okay," she replied. "I'll ... I'll meet you this afternoon. In the common room." Did I just say yes? Yes, I did. Why am I saying yes?

"Yes. Thank you." Harry nodded a few times, the relief that she'd agreed to this flooding him. "Thank you." He couldn't say that enough to her today. If she would do as he asked of her later, he would be forever in her debt.

Without another word, Hermione weaved her way through the crowd and rejoined Ron.

"He have to thank you again for Malfoy?" Ron asked as they walked down the corridor together.

"He said he needed to talk to me ... so I said I'd listen." She held up a hand, silencing Ron before he could even begin to object. "I told him I would meet him in the common room, therefore I won't be alone with him. Do stop worrying about me, Ron? I'll be fine." She looked at him, her features softening a little when she saw the genuine concern on his face. "I will be," she assured him, tone more gentle.

Ron sighed. He couldn't stop her from doing this. Hermione was Hermione. She did what she wanted, when she wanted and no one told her what to do. Unless it was a teacher and even then the chances weren't always 100 percent. It depended on the teacher. It was a trait he admired in her, but this time it could possibly get her into trouble. Even now, he mentally kicked himself for not being there for her when Harry had hurt her.

After leaving History of Magic, the last course of the day for Harry, he slipped down the corridor as quickly as possible and avoided Hermione and Ron. He wanted to hide in the library until he met Hermione. Studying usually helped him take his mind off of things. He needed the distraction today. As he rounded the corner someone grabbed him by his robe, whirled him about and slammed his back against the wall. He 'oofed' loudly but that was masked by the sound of his books clattering onto the floor.

"Ron," he breathed when he saw who it was. This was the first time in weeks Ron had actual contact with him. Judging by the look on Ron's face, this conversation didn't promise to be a pleasant one.

Ron gripped Harry by the robe, pushing him back against the wall, hard. His eyes bore into Harry's with an anger Harry had only witnessed a few times before. "I'll only say this once," he hissed as he shoved Harry again. "If you hurt her, I will kill you. Do you understand, Harry?" He narrowed his eyes. "It's no bluff, either. I won't allow you to do any more harm to her, not without severe repercussions."

Harry nodded once. He understood perfectly. Actually, he was surprised Ron was so public with the threat. Perhaps, he didn't care who heard him. Or he wanted everyone to hear him as a defense.

Ron let go of him. "Don't forget that," he warned. He glared at the person he'd once infinitely trusted. "If she ever cries again because of you ... " He let the sentence hang so Harry's imagination could run wild with the possibilities. With that said, he left Harry standing in the corridor.

Sighing, Harry knelt down and gathered his books. He glanced up as other students who walked by him gave him curious stares. He shook his head then brushed a hand over his chest where Ron's fists had pressed into him. When he met with Hermione later, he would be very careful in choosing words. He hadn't a doubt that Ron would try to make good on his promise.

Further up the corridor, Draco loudly laughed. When Harry lifted his head and look in Draco's direction, Malfoy just smiled. And turned away.

By the afternoon, Hermione was second-guessing her decision to talk with Harry, even if it was in a public place. During their morning classes, Ron kept warning her that Harry wasn't to be trusted. It made her head spin to hear that from Ron, of all people. Despite that, she sat in front of the fireless fireplace, waiting for Harry to show himself. The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven was open in her lap but she wasn't studying. She'd practically memorized the book before the school year started. People left her alone if she appeared to be busy and she wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone right then. She had to prepare herself for Harry.

Harry entered the Gryffindor common room, glancing around as he did so. He wondered if Hermione was there. He hoped so but if she wasn't he would understand. Luckily, he found her reclined in one of the armchairs with an open book on her lap that she'd pretended to read. He'd known her too long - he could tell when she was seriously studying and when she wasn't. Another quick survey of the room let him know they wouldn't be alone. Several second and third years were gathered at the other end of the common room, books and parchment out. The third years tipped off the second years about the trick questions Snape liked to throw at them on the Potions finals. They were far enough away they wouldn't hear what he had to say to Hermione.

Quietly, Harry slipped across the room and stopped in front of Hermione. He didn't say a word - instead he waited to be noticed.

Hermione saw Harry's shoes appeared before her as she continued to fake reading. This is it, she thought. Slowly, she lifted her head until her eyes met his. Never before had she realized how worn out Harry was. Obviously, he had his sleepless nights. She found comfort in it, too.

"Are you going to sit?" she asked, nodding to the empty chair beside her. As Harry took a seat, she closed the spell book and turned to face him. "What is it you wanted to talk about?"

No 'Hello, Harry' or 'How are you?'. The tone she spoke with wasn't that of a concerned friend. This was the one she used when she talked to people she didn't much care for. Like Malfoy. Her 'get to the point and be quick about it' tone didn't ease him. He wasn't sure how to ask her his question either. It wasn't a normal request by anyone's standards, but he couldn't think of anyone else in the school he could go to.

"Well?" she impatiently prompted, raising an expectant eyebrow. "I haven't all day, Harry."

He shifted in the chair and averted his gaze. "I wanted to ask a favor of you." He drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. "You're the only person who would be able to do it. And I ... I can't trust anyone else to, for that matter."

Hermione waited for him to continue. Her interest in whatever this favor would be was high but she gave him quite the opposite impression outwardly. She placed both hands on her spell book and sat straighter. "What's the favor?"

Harry closed his eyes. Whenever he did that these days, he could clearly picture the faces of those he'd killed. Quickly, he opened them then looked to her. "I need you to perform a spell ... on me," he finally told her. There. It had been said. The words were spoken and all she had to do was say 'yes' or 'no'. If she said yes, wonderful. If she said no, he didn't have many alternatives open to him.

"What spell?"

Harry blinked. "Huh?" He stared at Hermione as thought she'd spoken to him in a foreign language. "What?"

"What ... spell?" she asked again, slower and annunciated each word.

"Oh. It's ... " He paused, glanced over his shoulder at the second and third years then leaned towards her. "It's a Memory Charm," he finished in a whisper.

Hermione sat back, her eyes widening briefly in surprise but she quickly regained her composure. "A Memory Charm? Harry, why would you have me cast one of those on you?"

"If I have to explain that one to you, Hermione, you're not as bright as you like to think you are." He instantly recoiled after he'd made the snide remark. It wasn't the way to go about asking for favors. "Sorry," he murmured.

She only narrowed her eyes then tilted her head to one side. "Why should I do that for you?"

"Well, I -"

"So you can forget everything? Who you are, the things you've done - both the good and the bad?" She shook her head. "I can't believe that's what you wanted to ask me." She shifted her gaze away from him to the empty fireplace. "I really can't."

"So ... you're not going to do it?" he asked, slightly alarmed. He watched her heft her book into her arms then rise to her feet. "Hermione, please!" He grabbed her robe to keep her from leaving him. "You ... you can't ..."

"Please, let go, Harry," she calmly said but did not look at him.

"Don't walk away and leave me like this. I'm ... I'm desperate! I can't do it on myself; you know that. If it was possible, I'd have done it ages ago." His eyes pleaded with her when she did look down her nose at him. He must've looked pathetic to her but he didn't care. Not at this point. Dignity was something to be sacrificed if it meant he could have peace. "Please. I'm asking you ... Hermione, help me."

"I'm sorry, Harry," she firmly replied. "I'm sorry but I won't." She tried to pull her robe away but he stood and grabbed her by the upper arms. She felt a sudden stab of panic at his reaction then she remembered they weren't alone. Even so, she was uncomfortable in this position.

"Don't do this," he said, holding tightly to her. He didn't want to let go. She was his last chance. The last chance before he had to take more drastic measures. "Don't think about the rules, Hermione. If ... if you don't do this for me, I ... I haven't any idea of what to do. Please, just once ... don't be so bloody straight-laced."

"It's not the rules I'm thinking of, Harry," she shortly replied. Her eyes narrowed at him, the fear of his touch drained away as she spoke. "Don't you understand why I am refusing to do what you're asking?" She searched his face for any clue that he did know. "Don't you?"

He only blankly stared at her. After a second or two, he shrugged his shoulders.

"You may forget everything you've done, but what about the rest of us? What about me? And Ron?" She stepped back from him, wriggling out of his grasp with ease. "We'll still remember. Frankly, Harry, I don't find that the least bit fair." Her voice rose with anger. "You should feel horrible for what you've done. It's probably the only justice Ron and I will ever know."

"Hermione." He reached out to stop her from leaving but she moved much too quickly for him. In a matter of moments, she was up the staircase and had vanished into the girls' dormitories. She'd just ... left him. This wasn't the outcome he'd hoped for.

Slowly, he sank back down into his chair, staring at the door to the girls' dorms. He should've known it was pointless to ask her for help. She was the only one talented enough to perform such a spell. And she'd said no. No. It wasn't just that she'd said refused, she let him know exactly how she felt about him, too. Hermione was happy he was miserable and why shouldn't she be?

I told you, Harry, the voice weakly whispered. You should've listened to me. Now look at you. Friendless, a pariah and a pathetic excuse for a human being.

Harry put his hands to the sides of his head and pressed hard while he willed the voice to shut up. It was difficult to ignore the taunts from that pest. The gloating over how he'd told Harry that he would be sorry for deserting him. He'd never thought the guilt would be so awful. He didn't think much of anything, really. Until all he had were his own thoughts. No distractions, except for schoolwork. Not even that lasted long enough for him. Then came the nightmares - deep inside of his mind, a place where those memories came to life once again to torture him.

"Harry?"

He snapped out of his thoughts and looked up to find Neville Longbottom standing beside him. Neville was openly uneasy about being around Harry as most of his other Gryffindor House mates were these days. The fact they knew so little behind what happened in the library that night Ron almost died, it didn't help the matter any.

"What is it, Neville?" he flatly asked.

Neville shifted in place. "P-Professor Snape ... he's outside." He gestured towards the closed painting. "H-h-he sent me in here to find you. I think he wants to talk to you, Harry."

Harry nodded. He knew how much Neville feared Snape and it must've been doubly hard for him to be asked by Snape to retrieve Harry. "Thanks, Neville."

Neville nodded once then stepped aside as Harry rose to his feet. "N-not a problem," he nervously replied. He forced a smile.

Harry crossed the common room, stopped by the painting and prepared himself for Snape. No telling what the man wanted to talk about. Likely, Snape would have several snide remarks to make during the course of the conversation. Compassion wasn't his forte. Once ready, he pushed open the painting and stepped into the corridor.

Snape and a few students who were on their way to other places were the only ones around.

"You wanted to see me?" Harry flatly asked as the painting swung shut. He studied the pale features of the Potions teacher. A chill ran down his spine when he noticed the way Snape's dark eyes stared back at him. He felt self-conscious, like the man saw right through him.

"Come with me, Potter," Snape deadpanned as he crooked a finger, indicating he wished for Harry to follow. Turning, he began to walk back up the corridor, his long black robes flowing behind him. "Let's not dally, I haven't oodles of time, you know!" he called without even glancing over his shoulder.

Hurriedly, Harry followed Snape at a short distance. He had no desire to walk beside the teacher and give the man a chance to cut him down while they went ... wherever they were going. Soon, it became clear where they were headed - the Potions room.

Snape threw open the door to the dungeon classroom and continued to walk until he reached the table situated at the front of it. Once behind it, he turned around and narrowed his gaze at Harry who stood just inside the doorway. "Come in," he ordered. He placed his hands on the table as Harry did as he was instructed. "Let's hurry this up. I'm a busy man."

"All right!" Harry snapped as he reached the table at the front of the classroom. He saw a flare in Snape's eyes but the teacher said nothing. On the table, Harry saw a plain goblet with a foul-smelling steam rising from the black liquid contained within it. "What's this?"

"This ..." Snape said as he placed a pale hand on the base of the goblet. "This is the solution to your problems, boy." He smiled a little then withdrew his hand. "Are you interested in learning why?"

Harry tore his gaze from the steaming goblet and focused on Snape. "That depends. What do you think my problems are?"

Snape tapped his fingernails on the tabletop as he studied Harry. "I know your problems better than you think, Potter," he evenly replied. "Or have you forgotten about my ... now how did you put it?" He paused and pretended to think on it. "Oh, yes. My ... 'personal history', that's it."

Harry swallowed then looked back to the goblet.

Snape scoffed when Harry had no snappy retort. "Dumbledore believes you and I have that in common and I could be of some ... help to you. I happen to think the circumstances are different and our situations are nothing alike. But I'm not Headmaster of the school, then, am I? If I were, Potter, you can rest assured I would not have allowed you to remain here. Your sort are dangerous - to yourself and to those around you."

Harry gritted his teeth. Is that what Snape had brought him there for? To insult him? To smile with glee as he twisted the knife that was already lodged deeply in Harry's heart? It was Snape, though. He probably thought it was amusing to see the 'Famous Harry Potter' in such a state.

"You're not Headmaster," he growled through gritted teeth. "And I'm not a danger to anyone, either."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Does the famous hero believe he's better than the rest of us? Does he think he couldn't fall back to his vile ways?" He stood straight and gestured fluidly to the door. "If you're certain that you are then, by all means, leave. I'll just toss this out."

"Wait!" Harry exclaimed as Snape reached for the goblet.

Snape's hand froze and he smiled at the panicked expression on Harry's face. "Hmm. Not so sure about ourselves, are we, then?" He pulled his hand back from the goblet. "You've finally shown a bit of intelligence. There may be hope for you yet."

"Stop with the games, would you? It's boring," Harry replied, trying to restrain his building frustration and anger with the teacher. "Just tell me what's in the goblet and why it's the solution to my problems."

Snape's mouth quirked. "You've polluted my classroom for nearly seven years now, right, Potter?"

Harry nodded his head while biting back the snide remark on the tip of his tongue.

"In that time, what have you learned about potions? Nothing," he said before Harry could respond. "And don't try to argue. Your marks in this class only support my statement."

Harry found it more and more difficult to keep quiet.

"And, if you were as smart in this class as you are with your mouth, you would've realized what this is." He pushed the goblet towards Harry. "Something we don't make in this class but we most definitely acknowledge the existence of them. How ... deadly ... they are."

Harry gazed into the black liquid as Snape spoke. He knew what the professor meant by the solution to his problems, what it was that Snape had concocted and now sat before him on the table. "A death potion," he whispered, unaware he'd actually spoken the words. His eyes met Snape's and, for once, there was a satisfied look on the professor's face.

"You're not a complete idiot, I see."

Harry blinked. "You're ... you're giving this to me?" He pointed to the goblet.

"It's there, isn't it?" Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Please, don't make me lose the little respect I've gained for you."

Harry's brow furrowed. "I don't understand. Why are you doing this? Don't you realize how much trouble you'll be in?" He gestured to the potion again. "You could -"

"It isn't me we're discussing here, it's you," Snape angrily cut in. "Besides, if you actually consume it, who is to say that I'm responsible? And what do you care about what happens to me? You'll have that oblivion you've been so desperately pining for, won't you?"

Harry stared at Snape, disbelief spread thoroughly across his features. He wondered if he hadn't fallen asleep in a class or in the common room. This had to be some sort of dream. Snape offered him death, a clean and painless one at that, but why?

It's Snape, he thought. He'd love nothing more than for you to drink his potion and kill yourself.

Snape pushed the goblet towards Harry. "Why don't you put yourself and everyone around you out of this misery? Drink it, Potter. And be quick about it."

Harry looked back to the goblet. There it was - a way out. If Hermione wouldn't cast the spell to make him forget, he would end the pain the next best way available to him. One drink and he would be far away from this continuous torture.

Snape drew in a slow breath as Harry curled his fingers around the goblet. His eyes followed the steaming cup as Harry lifted it from the table and brought it closer to his lips. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as Harry closed his eyes and prepared to take a drink. "Of course," he casually started. "If you kill yourself, you've destroyed any chance you have of being forgiven by your friends."

Harry's eyes opened and the goblet remained poised near his mouth. He looked at Snape who blankly stared back. No smug smile, no smirk, no hint that this was just another stinging commentary from the man.

"But you go right ahead. Kill yourself." Snape made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Drink it down and rid us of your presence. Take the easy way out."

Slowly, Harry lowered the goblet and he finally placed it on the table between them. Snape had a point. If he did do it, where did that leave him with Ron and Hermione? No would mourn him because no one would care. Was that how he wanted to leave the world? Hated by his two best friends?

He backed away from the table.

"Changed your mind, then?" asked Snape.

Harry took a few more steps back before he turned and hurried out of the Potions classroom.

Snape shrugged as he picked up the goblet. "I suppose that would be a yes," he murmured.

He threw his head back, draining the liquid from the goblet before placing it back on the table. Rolling his tongue in his mouth, he shook his head once, cringing a little. Something about the Muggle coffee drink didn't agree with him most days. The ginger root he'd placed in it to mask the smell cut the taste and, he had to admit, it wasn't too bad.

Later that night, Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room with only the dim candlelight and the shadows they cast to keep him company. Most everyone else was asleep by this hour and he didn't care if he was found out of bed, should McGonagall or anyone wander in. Drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair, he stared at the dead fireplace, wondering how to begin making things right with Ron and Hermione. No doubt it would take a long while, probably years, but he wouldn't give up on them. No. In Snape's classroom, everything had been put into perspective. If he expected to be forgiven, he had to earn it.

Hermione would be easier to win back than Ron, he knew. So many more obstacles were in the way where Ron was concerned. Not only had Harry almost killed him, he was responsible for Ginny's death. That was something that weighed heavily on Ron's shoulders as well. He'd blamed himself for her 'suicide'. He thought if he'd been a better brother she would still be alive. Before Harry could dream of asking for Ron's forgiveness, he would have to come clean about what'd happened last Halloween. Something he had no idea of how to do and not expect the worst in response from Ron.

"Have you any idea what time - "

Harry jerked when he heard Ron's voice, in that scolding prefect tone, sharply whispering beside him. He lifted his head and met Ron's gaze. Immediately, Ron's expression turned from "angered prefect" to the one he wore earlier when he'd promised to kill Harry.

"It's only me," he murmured in reply.

Ron folded his arms across his chest. "I can see that," he sourly said. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Thinking," Harry answered as he looked back to the fireplace. He couldn't stand seeing that hatred in his friend's eyes.

"You can think in your bed, Harry. How would it look if I let you hang about down here?" He waited for a response. He moved into Harry's line of sight and cleared his throat. "Do I have to remind you of my duties? There are rules I have to make certain are followed. By everyone."

"I know, Ron," Harry quietly assured him. He flicked his gaze away, uneasy again. "I'll go back upstairs. I promise."

"You promise? As though your word means bugger all to me?" Ron snorted, shaking his head. "You must've forgotten a few things about us. Like the bit about how we aren't friends anymore."

Harry looked up to Ron. "I wish I could do something to prove that I'm just Harry." He slightly flinched when he saw Ron's eyes darken. The weight of the sadness on his heart became even more unbearable. "What can I do, Ron? Tell me what would convince you that I'm me and this isn't some elaborate trick?"

Ron's arms dropped to his sides. "Do you want to know? Are you certain?"

Leaning forward, Harry eagerly nodded. A glimmer of hope ignited within him. This was a major step forward in mending the broken bonds of friendship with Ron. "I'll do anything," he sincerely said.

"Then I'll tell you how to prove you've changed." Ron paused as he his face became even more full of hate. Bending slightly at the waist, he narrowed his eyes at Harry. "Nothing. That's what."

Harry blinked, confused by the response. "I don't -"

"You can do nothing, Harry, because you haven't changed one bloody bit," Ron continued as though Harry hadn't spoken a word. "No one changes overnight. Whatever this new game is, I won't be a pawn in it. And should you try to involve Hermione, I'll make you wish you'd been sent to Azkaban."

Harry sank back deeply into the chair as Ron jogged up the stairs. He considered Ron's words. His onetime best friend had made it painfully clear that he would never forgive him and never trust him. The glimmer of hope was snuffed out in an instant.

You should've taken Snape's potion when you had the chance, Harry, the voice said then chuckled. Seems like you and I will becomes good friends again because of all this.

Curling up into a ball, Harry fought back the tears as long as he could. The battle didn't last long, though.

"You said what to him?"

Hermione stared across the library table at Ron, wide-eyed. Instead of using their Saturday afternoon for studying, they'd spent it discussing Harry. She'd not told Ron about Harry's request for a Memory charm and Ron didn't seem to care what Harry had wanted from her, either. He was more than happy to tell her about his chat with Harry in the common room the evening before.

"You heard me," he grumbled. He pretended to read about the distinct differences between fairies, pixies and sprites.

She shook her head. "Oh, Ron, you didn't!" she gasped. She glanced at the table next to them where Lavender Brown 'shhed' her. Her voice lowered as she leaned forward. "How could you say something like that?"

"I don't want him hurting you again," he replied as he flipped the page in his book. He didn't understand why she was so angry with him; he only wanted to keep her safe.

"But to say such a thing? And I can handle myself with Harry, thank you very much. I don't need you acting like a silly fool." She leaned back in her chair, her arms folding across her chest as she gave him that Look - the one that reminded him of his mother when she lectured him. "What would happen if any of that gets back to McGonagall? She might strip you of your prefect title. You don't want that, Ron. It would be awful."

"I don't much care, do I?"

"I hadn't noticed," she sarcastically replied. "Look, we haven't much longer in school. Finals begin on Monday and when they're finished we'll be gone. Please, stay away from Harry for a few more days?"

He muttered something.

"Stay away from him," she sternly said. She lifted her brows when he looked across the table to her. "I don't want to hear any more stories about you attacking him in the hallways."

Ron's face flushed red and he quickly averted his gaze. "Where would you hear a story like that?"

"Oh, from no one. Except maybe Parvati Patel." She let out a short, flustered sigh when Ron pretended to read his book. "I know you mean well but that isn't going to make things any better."

"Are you sure?" he asked as he raised his head. "I don't trust him, Hermione. He fooled everyone for months into thinking he was ... 'just Harry'. And what did he do in the meantime? He killed his own relatives and he tried to kill us!"

"Ron, you know why -"

"Blood spell or not, I don't care," he hotly shot back. He paused when people at the other tables turned to glare at them. He dropped his voice into a softer tone and went on. "I only know what he's done, all right? I won't let that happen to us again."

Her shoulders slumped. This was a pointless discussion. Ron's position on Harry hadn't changed in weeks and it probably never would. She felt torn between them - she understood Ron's suspicions and anger but she also felt for Harry who was alone in his misery. If only something could be done to help all three of them.

A book slammed loudly on the table making Ron, Hermione and several students at the tables around them jump in their seats. Malfoy stood by the table, a malicious smile on his face, his hands on the book he'd dropped.

"Well, if it isn't the Mudblood and the poor boy," he pleasantly greeted. He smiled wider at the glare he'd earned from Ron. "Studying hard for the exams, are we?"

Hermione dipped the point of her quill into the inkbottle and began to scribble down notes on her parchment. "If you're here to ask if you can cheat off of us, Draco, you're wasting your time," she casually said then glanced up at him.

Malfoy smirked as Ron grinned. "Cheat? Off the likes of you?" He snorted, insulted by the thought. "You may think you're the smartest student in this school, Granger, but you're not. Much more clever people attend here, you know."

"Surely you're not suggesting you are one of those people?" She finished out her sentence then looked up at Malfoy. "I happen to know that in order for you to pass you'll need the most amazing scores on your exams."

Ron placed a hand to his forehead while he tried to control his silent laughter.

"I'd advise you to spend your time studying rather than annoying us," she added. She politely smiled at the Slytherin.

Ron snorted with laughter and Draco's eyes narrowed on him, his anger with the both of them steadily rising. "Think she's funny, Weasley?" he snarled, not caring when Parvati shushed him. His eyes darkened when Ron looked at him. "I don't think you'll be laughing when you discover the truth about that dimwitted sister of yours."

The smile vanished from Ron's face as he rose to his feet so fast that it made Draco take a step backwards. "What're you talking about, Malfoy?" he growled.

The smile found its way back to Malfoy's face and his eyes gleamed once more. "I'm not really the person you should be asking that question," he coolly answered. He picked up his book and shrugged carelessly. "Perhaps you should try your old friend Potter? I'm sure he knows plenty about it."

Hermione gripped her quill so tightly in her hand that it snapped in two. She hadn't realized she held back her desire to slap Malfoy's pale face so desperately. Things were tense enough between Harry and Ron and now Draco came along to stir the ashes of a smoldering fire.

With a satisfied grin and a feeling of triumph, Draco turned and left Hermione and Ron's table. If that didn't start something, he didn't know what would.

Looking away, Hermione dropped the pieces of her quill onto the table. "Honestly, there are days that I think his only reason for existing is to make us miserable," she muttered. She looked to Ron. Or to where Ron had stood only a moment ago. "Ron?" A panic washed over her as she twisted in her seat, trying to find him in the library. Soon, she leaned towards the table where Parvati and Lavender sat and poured over their Potions work. "Did either of you see which way Ron went?" she asked in a loud whisper.

Parvati pointed with her quill towards the doors leading out of the library.

Harry breathed in the warm spring air that blew through the open window of his room. He leaned back against the windowsill, gazing out upon the vast grounds of Hogwarts. He'd tried to lose himself in his studies but it was difficult to do in that room. The room where it began. He sighed heavily, his head dropping as he thought of poor Ginny. She'd trusted him with her very life. Her mistake, he'd thought at the time. Now he knew it wasn't a mistake. He'd betrayed her trust to prove a point to himself. He wanted to prove that he could be without care. To become more like ... Malfoy.

He lifted his head and swallowed hard. Malfoy had heard everything that night and for whatever reason, he covered for Harry. Malfoy perpetuated the lie that Ginny had taken her own life. Harry was sick at the thought of what he'd done to her. He'd lured her to the privacy of his room where he had all the control. He played with her crush on him until he'd bored of her. And he enjoyed the feeling of superiority. Once he was ready, he moved the final piece in his game and tricked her into stepping out of that window.

He flinched as Ron's cries from that night filled his head. The memory of it was as loud as it had been on Halloween. Once Ron realized his sister was gone, he fell apart. Then there was Hermione. She comforted him, speaking to him in those soothing whispers that could enchant a person. In that moment, everything had changed.

And you did that, Harry, the voice whispered. You don't get it yet, do you, my boy? Don't you understand?

Harry placed his hands on either side of his and pressed hard. The voice - it refused to leave him. The taunts, the comments, the "I told you sos"; he grew more weary with each passing day. The voice never tired, though. It never slept. It never gave up.

You should understand by now. It's over. They are never going to take you back. You can apologize until your dying day but it won't do you any good. They hate you. They hate you and that's a fact you'll have to accept.

"Shut up!" Harry yelled. He waited a few moments and then he opened his eyes. The voice had gone quiet again. For how long, he didn't know.

"Ron!"

Hermione rushed into the Gryffindor common room. Pausing, she panted hard as her eyes scanned the room filled with studying students who curiously stared at her. Ron wasn't among them. That meant -

Her gaze rose up to the doorway that lead to the boys' dorms. It was slightly ajar.

"Oh no," she gasped. Quickly, she tore up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Harry whirled around, rising to his feet as the door to his room flew open with a bang. Ron entered and stopped for only a moment then he advanced on Harry. Harry brought up a hand to keep Ron back. Whatever it was, he'd never seen Ron so angry before.

"Ron -" he began.

Before Harry could utter another word, Ron threw a merciless punch that landed square in the other wizard's mouth. Harry stumbled backwards, more dazed by the amount of power behind the punch than anything. Ron, on the other hand, wasn't about to leave it at that. He seized Harry by the robe to keep him from falling then punched him again, even harder. And another followed that punch.

Hermione skidded to a halt, falling against the doorjamb for support as she caught her breath. Her eyes went wide at the scene before her. Ron held Harry by the robe with one hand while viciously punching him with the other.

"Ron!" she cried. She reached out her hands as she rushed towards them. "Stop it!" She grabbed his arm with both of her hands when he brought it back to deliver another blow. "Ron! Please! Stop!"

Oh, I should've used a spell on him! she thought as she wrestled to keep his arm from wrenching free of her grasp. His anger had given him strength he'd never known before.

Harry's head swam and throbbed from the effects of Ron's violent throttling. He lost his balance and collapsed to his knees. His robe slipped from Ron's grasp in the same instant.

"What did you do to her, Harry?" Ron shouted. He tried to shove Hermione off so he could finish what he'd started but she refused to let go. "What did you do to Ginny?"

Harry steadied himself by leaning against his bed. He felt the warm blood trickle down his throat and ooze from his nostrils. Ron's shouts echoed in his ears. He tilted his head back and struggled to focus on the face before him. What he saw wasn't the Ron he knew. This was a young man consumed by a rage which he couldn't wait to unleash once more.

"W-what?" he managed to choke out. His jaw was sore and it hurt like hell to talk.

"Ginny!" Ron lunged but Hermione managed to hold him back. "What did you do? I want to know!"

"Ron, don't do this," Hermione calmly said as she leaned closer to him. "He didn't do anything to Ginny. Malfoy was running off at the mouth again." She felt Ron relax and she sighed with relief. "This is what Draco wants. You know how he is. Please ... don't hit him anymore."

Ron's arm lowered as he fully relaxed. His anger began to subside as he listened to Hermione's voice. His eyes, though, never left Harry's.

Once she was sure he wouldn't attack Harry again, Hermione let go of Ron's arm. She stepped between them, pushing Ron back a bit with both of her hands. She glanced down at Harry. His nose and mouth were badly bloodied. Ron didn't hold back at all, she could tell. Her expression softened towards Harry, feeling something she would've called "sympathy" towards him.

"Are you all right?" she quietly asked. He acted as though he hadn't heard her. "Harry? Are you listening to me?" He only kept staring at Ron. "Harry?"

Ron hated him. This wasn't the type of hate that Harry experienced at the hands of the Dursleys. This ran much deeper; it was all there in Ron's eyes, and it was reigned in only by Hermione's request. Had she not been there, Ron surely would've continued to pummel him until he was dead.

"I want to know what he's done, Hermione," Ron growled as his eyes narrowed on Harry. "Something happened that night, something he hasn't told us."

"Ron, don't be stupid," Hermione snapped as she turned to him. "He didn't do anything. Malfoy's been telling lies all over school about that."

Ron shifted his gaze to her. "Malfoy was there, too. He knows what Harry does." Reaching into his robe, he pulled out his wand then pointed it right between Harry's eyes. "I want to know what he knows."

Look at him, Harry, the voice purred. He wants nothing more than to kill you. Don't you see the hate he has for you? You'll never be his friend again. And he'll never forgive you.

Hermione's jaw briefly dropped, shocked. "Put that away this instant!" she declared.

"I will - when he tells me the truth about Ginny. Because I'm thinking that maybe Malfoy isn't lying this time."

Come back to me, Harry. Together, we can finish what we've started. You can have everything you want; everything you deserve.

Harry gazed up at Ron who waited for his answer. The bleeding had begun to stop and the blood dried upon his skin as a badge of sorts. Fitting, really. He'd shed enough blood of others, why shouldn't somebody have the satisfaction of shedding his own?

'I wonder', Malfoy's voice echoed in Harry's mind. 'What would Weasley do if he ever discovered the truth?'

"Ron, please," Hermione begged. She fought back tears as she looked from him to Harry. "Don't do anything foolish!"

Her pleas went unheeded.

"Do you really want to know?"

The sound of Harry's voice startled Hermione and she looked upon him.

"Yes." Ron gripped his wand. "What happened to her?"

Don't be a fool! cried the voice. You'll kill us both!

"I was the reason Ginny leaped from the window," Harry continued in a low voice, his eyes never leaving Ron's. "I tricked her into thinking that I wouldn't let her fall ... and she jumped." He paused. "She didn't commit suicide, Ron. I ... I killed her."

Hermione gasped as a hand flew to her open mouth. Shaking her head, she stared in shock and horror at Harry. "Oh ... oh, Harry," she whispered. Tears welled up in her eyes. As much as she'd wanted to forgive Harry before, she wasn't sure such an act was forgivable.

"I manipulated her," Harry went on, ignoring Hermione's reaction. "I used her trust in me against her. She's dead, Ron. Not because of you but because of me."

"Harry," Hermione whispered again as her hand dropped away from her mouth. "You ... you didn't." After Harry nodded, she looked over to Ron. "Ron?"

Ron's face was devoid of any emotion as he stared at Harry who was still on his knees. His hand tightened on his wand. For the first time in weeks, he actually believed something Harry Potter had said. Somehow, deep down, he'd always suspected that Harry was responsible. Now he had his confirmation.

Harry waited for Ron to do something. Anything. He watched as a few stray tears streamed down the other boy's cheeks. He glanced at the shaking wand in Ron's hand, and Harry willed it to point at him again and to finish him off. "Do it, Ron," he quietly urged. His eyes pleaded with the enraged young wizard. He wanted more than anything for his ex-best friend to do what Voldemort couldn't that night almost 17 years ago. He swallowed hard. The pain and guilt weighed on him and it was unbearable. "Please ... kill me."

"NO!" Hermione shrieked, pure horror on her face at such a suggestion. "You can't! Ron, if you do that, you'll be in such awful trouble! You'd never forgive yourself either!" She grabbed a hold of his wand arm and attempted to wrench the wand from his hand. "Give me that! Now!"

Rather easily, Ron shoved her off. With a small yelp, Hermione slammed into the wall near the window. Her head hit the wall upon contact and it dazed her. Slightly dizzy, she couldn't stand any longer. Slowly, she slid to the floor. With Hermione out of the way, Ron turned his attention back to Harry.

"I always knew," he coldly growled. His eyes burned into Harry. "I didn't want to think you capable but I always knew." He shook his head. "There's no reason why I shouldn't blast you into a million bloody pieces."

"Then do it!" Harry pulled out his own wand, showed it to Ron then tossed it across the room. "No tricks, no games. Just kill me. You're the only one who can help me." The pleading in his voice grew as he spoke. "Kill me ... please ... kill me."

Ron's teeth gritted as he raised his wand, pointing the tip of it in Harry's face once more. Every single inch of him demanded that he do as Harry requested. Say a few simple words and give his dead sister justice, the sister his once best friend had so casually murdered.

"Mmm," Hermione softly moaned as she placed a hand to her throbbing head. She heard Ron and Harry's voices speaking but they sounded as though they were inside of a tin can. She struggled to focus on the two forms in front of her. Soon, she had a clear picture of Ron, his wand in Harry's face, standing in front of Harry who was still on his knees.

Ron looked away from Harry to Hermione. What would she do if he did it? What would she think of him? He felt guilty for shoving her, for hurting her. That was something he'd never have dreamed of doing before. And now he had. Why? Because he hated Harry so much.

"Kill me," Harry begged as he crawled towards him on his knees. "I can't live like this anymore. I can't. Just kill me."

Slowly, Ron's wand arm lowered. Then his hand opened and the wand dropped harmlessly onto the floor. He saw Harry's desperate gaze flick from his wand back up to him. He knew in that moment that he'd been wrong about Harry - he had changed. The guilt and pain was real.

"I won't," he murmured, his features becoming less rigid. He wetted his lips with his tongue. His anger changed into something else - pity. Harry was miserable and he'd hoped to gain death through Ron, a death that Ron chose not to give him. "It has to stop somewhere, Harry. And it stops right here. Where it started."

Hermione closed her eyes relieved as Ron turned his back on Harry - it was finally over. Everything was out in the open. No more secrets, no more hatred, no more death. It was over. Her hands wiped away the hot tears from her reddened cheeks. "Thank you," she whispered, not sure whom she was thanking. It didn't matter, really. She just wanted to say it. "Thank you."

Harry, on the other hand, doubled over, his fingers locked together behind his head. He wouldn't have death. He was stuck with life - a life that meant little without forgiveness from his friends.

Ron bowed his head. "It may take a while, Harry," he continued in a low tone. "But I might be able to forgive you for what you've done."

Harry sat on his feet, hands slipping away from his head. He stared at Ron's back in disbelief. Had he heard Ron right? He might be able to ... to forgive him? The hopelessness was giving way to ... to hope. There was an opportunity for their relationship to be mended. And he would do anything - anything - Ron desired in order to fix it.

It won't work, Potter, warned the voice.

He paid no attention. At this point, he would take anything he could get.

Two Weeks Later

"This is the last time we'll be boarding this train," Hermione commented as Ron joined her by the Hogwarts Express. She was happy and sad to be leaving school. So much good and bad had taken place there in seven years, most of the bad being in the most recent year, however. Still - she'd discovered herself while a student and took away many lessons beyond those she'd learned in the classroom.

Ron leaned against the scarlet train, watching the younger students call out good byes to each other and "see you next terms!" He was ecstatic to be done with Hogwarts. At one time, he was quite certain he wouldn't live to see this day - passing his finals with flying colors and still being alive. The still being alive part amazed him the most considering how many tricks Voldemort had pulled since his first year. "Rather glad of it," he replied. He shrugged when Hermione turned to him. "I'm sorry, but that's how I feel."

Hermione frowned but she nodded. "I understand."

In two weeks, things between her, Ron and Harry had changed. Mostly for the better, but change was always hard, no matter what kind. Harry and Ron were certainly far from being best friends again. They'd had quite a few long talks since the day Harry came clean about Ginny, and Ron had made good on his promise to try to forgive him.

"Look, there he is," Ron said as he pushed himself off of the train, gesturing on up the platform.

Hermione turned.

There was Harry. He stood aside from the other students while Dumbledore talked with him. Her lips pressed together. Dumbledore had been quite crushed to find out about Ginny Weasley. She suspected he blamed himself for it as much as Ron had. She'd wanted to say to the headmaster that he wasn't perfect. Harry was quite convincing when he wanted to be. His lies over Ginny Weasley's death were no different.

"You know you are free to contact me at any time, Harry, should you need me," Dumbledore gently said to him. He placed a hand gently on the young man's shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

Harry nodded then let his gaze drop to the platform below his feet. He found it difficult to look Dumbledore in the eyes. He could see the disappointment in them, especially since the truth about Ginny had been revealed. Still, only a few at Hogwarts knew the entire story and Dumbledore intended for it to remain that way.

"Sirius is ready for you, Harry. You'll be well taken care of by him." Dumbledore offered a small smile when Harry finally raised his head.

Sirius Black had stepped forward to claim responsibility for his godson, eager to be a guiding force in Harry's life after he'd heard the entire tale of Harry's stroll through the darkness. "Trust in him, my boy. And be wary. Things may be lighter now but Voldemort remains among us."

"Yes, Professor," Harry quietly replied. He couldn't forget Voldemort. He'd become the bastard for a while. "I'll do my best."

"I'm quite sure you will." Dumbledore let his hand slide from Harry's shoulder as he sighed a little. "You should hurry along now, Harry. The train won't wait for you."

"Thank you, Professor." Harry made his way down the platform where Hermione and Ron waited. He glanced at them but didn't say anything. Silently, he boarded the train and made his way down the aisle until he found an empty booth.

"This is going to be a long trip, I can already tell," Ron sighed. He gestured for Hermione to step onto the train before him. Once she did, he followed.

Harry stared out of the window, his gaze locked on the grand castle that was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He wouldn't miss this place. Too many memories, memories of things he'd much rather forget. Slumping down in the seat, he folded his arms across his chest and rested his head against the glass.

"Harry?"

He turned to see Hermione, with Ron behind her, standing just outside of the doorway.

"Did you ... did you want us to sit with you?" she cautiously asked. She wasn't sure if it would be the proper thing to do. They were still awkward around one another. This trip home wouldn't be like the others - full of laughter and games and fun.

Harry only shrugged. "If you want to." Actually, he preferred to sit alone and hoped that Hermione and Ron would find a booth of their own for the trip back to London.

Ron placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "We'll leave you alone, Harry. If that's what you want." He waited for a yay or nay from Harry but Harry only shrugged once again. Leaning over, he softly said into Hermione's ear, "Let's leave him alone, then. Just for a while?"

She nodded. "All right," she quietly replied. Ron left to find them a booth and she'd started to follow but stepped back into the doorway. "Did you ... hear about Draco Malfoy, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I didn't." Malfoy. That was one person he tried to not think about the last two weeks. In the depths of his soul, he regretted not killing the pale annoyance when he'd had the chance. "What about him?"

Hermione managed a small smile. "He horribly failed his N.E.W.T.s," she replied. The smile grew just a bit wider. "He didn't pass his last year. Obviously, money counts for nothing. Sometimes." Her smile vanished when she saw the blank expression on Harry's face. She cleared her throat. "Anyway ... I thought ... I thought you'd be interested in that. I'll ... I'll just ... go ... now."

Harry sat back in the seat as Hermione disappeared from the doorway. He chuckled once then shook his head. Malfoy had failed his finals? The warmth of satisfaction filled him if only for a few moments. How would Lucius Malfoy explain that to the rest of the wizarding world? His only child, a failure at Hogwarts.

He should've remained loyal to you, Harry, said the voice.

Leave me alone, he bitterly thought in reply.

A laugh. Leave you alone? Haven't you sorted it out yet, Harry? I can't leave you alone. I can't leave, period. Do you know why? Have you stopped once to think on it?

Harry shifted in the seat, trying to ignore the voice. I'm not listening to you anymore. You might as well save yourself the trouble.

Save myself the trouble? Another laugh, much more amused this time. You really haven't sorted it out, have you, Potter? Who I am?

Harry continued to stare out of the window, pretending he hadn't heard the voice. The train jerked a bit as it began to pull away from the station and start the long trek back to London. He gazed at his own reflection then sat back with a sharp gasp when he saw it grinning back at him. He blinked a few times but the image remained. When the voice in his head laughed again, the reflection of him did as well.

I'm you, Harry. I'm you.